


Replicated Men

by raisedbyhyenas



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raisedbyhyenas/pseuds/raisedbyhyenas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danse makes his way back to the Commonwealth and meets an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Replicated Men

**Author's Note:**

> Minor tw for suicidal ideation and disordered eating; major spoilers for Danse's personal quest.

It’s been sixteen months since Danse arrived in the Commonwealth as a paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. It’s been five months since his world fell apart, and two months since the Institute made themselves known throughout the wasteland. Now, synthetic humans walk openly through the Commonwealth as the Institute begins to flex its power.

And Danse is running away. The woman who dragged herself out of Vault 111 has taken his place in the world from him, his humanity, and now even what little honor he had left. He turns around and squints -- he can just barely make out Trinity Tower from where he is. When he turns and descends the hill, he’ll never see it again. 

He will go back to the Citadel. He will present himself to the presiding Elder for scientific research. Danse has no particular illusions about surviving the process, but at least this way his death will be meaningful. One way or another, he will help defend humanity. 

 

\-----------------

 

He does his best to avoid the Brotherhood patrols running through the Capital Wasteland -- as much as a thing like him shouldn’t feel want, seeing power armor shining in the thin sunlight makes his chest ache like it’s being squeezed. Introducing himself as anything other than Paladin Danse might kill him, he thinks, so he just… doesn’t. 

Instead, he picks his way carefully through the last remaining bastions of super mutants. It’s hard, fighting without his armor. He has to be careful and smart, even though all his instincts are screaming at him to at least die gloriously in battle -- but his body is valuable, and he needs to get it to the Brotherhood to do the most good. Even if he’d rather die with his hands around a mutie’s throat. Even if the thought of being cut open and exposed in front of his former brothers in arms gives him screaming nightmares.

To be honest, it’s a relief when he finally fails -- he is so intent on picking off super mutants one by one at a distance that he doesn’t notice the centaur until it’s practically on him. He does his best, but the abomination is stronger than he is and has the element of surprise, and he goes down. There is a confusion of of limbs and a mutie’s roar of aggression followed by a gunshot, then everything goes mercifully dark.

 

\-----------------

 

He wakes up by degrees. At first he just exists for a moment or two, listening to the sounds of metal creaking and water lapping against a wall somewhere. Then, slowly, higher thought returns -- he’s lying on his back in a clean bed and a real mattress, staring up at a dimly lit metal ceiling. He sees a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye and turns his head. Everything hurts -- he’s starving and dehydrated, and there are bruises making themselves known across his entire body as he moves.

A man is sitting by his bed. “Are you feeling better?” he asks, reaching out and putting a clinical hand on Danse’s forehead, then checking his pulse. “You’re in Rivet City -- one of our patrols saw you and brought you into the boat. You were lucky you weren’t killed, you know -- but you should be safe now.”

It takes Danse a few minutes to place him. “The… the security chief?” he says tentatively.

He last saw the man a little over ten years ago. His brown hair is streaked with grey and there are lines forming at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth, but he’s otherwise unchanged. Danse remembers him stopping by his junk stand every day, nodding politely to Danse and Cutler before moving on. Once, when things had been very bad, he’d left behind a sandwich and a bottle of purified water on the counter, apparently struck deaf when Danse called out after him to not forget his food.

“Harkness?” he guesses. 

The man smiles. “That’s me,” he says. “More or less.” 

Danse’s confusion at that must show on his face. Harkness hesitates, looking like he wants to say something; after a moment he sighs and shakes his head. “We’ll talk later,” he says, standing. “I just -- wanted to be here when you woke up, to make sure you knew you’ve got friends here.” 

Synths don’t have friends.  _ Things _ don’t have friends. Harkness must be able to guess at what Danse is thinking because he laughs, just a little. “Friends whether you want them or not,” he adds. “I’ve got to make the rounds, but I’ll be back soon. Get some rest -- there’s food and water next to you, if you need them.”

Purified water and an omelette. Danse doesn’t know why Harkness would waste even this on him -- he’s pretty sure at this point that he  _ can _ go without food and he can survive radiation sickness, although neither are pleasant. He resolves not to eat, at least. 

“Hey.” Harkness taps him on the shoulder. “Eat, okay? The more you eat the faster you’ll recover.” And then he’s gone, leaving Danse alone with his thoughts.

It’s good he was saved, he thinks through the hollow feeling in his chest. This way he’ll definitely make it to the Citadel. He’ll be smarter, and stop avoiding Brotherhood patrols. He can get used to not being one of them. It’ll be fine.

He can’t stop a traitorous part of him from wishing he had been killed outright. He tries very hard not to cry, but can’t help it -- even this synthetic flesh betrays him.

 

\-----------------

 

Danse spends several days in bed, mostly sleeping. He drinks some water, but refuses the food; each day Harkness comes by with something to eat in the morning, then comes back in the evening and retrieves it. Danse doesn’t want to talk to him, and Harkness doesn’t push it.

On the fifth day, Harkness shows up in regular clothes instead of his customary armor. “Come on,” he says, tossing Danse clean clothing. “You’ve slept enough, let’s go for a walk.” 

It takes Danse longer than usual to change; his hands are shaking, and when he stands up too quickly his vision blacks out for a second. Harkness has to support him for his first shaky steps around the room, and even once he’s found his feet a little, Harkness keeps one hand around his waist.

They make it out onto the deck of the ship, out in the open air. The humid air sticks in his lungs and fogs up his brain, and Danse misses the colder climate in the Commonwealth desperately. “Look, kid, you have to eat,” Harkness says, shoving a sandwich into Danse’s hands. “You can do this willingly or I can make you, but either way, you’re eating this.” 

The first bite is miserably hard, and Danse almost chokes trying to force it down, but the second one is easier, and on the third basic biology asserts itself. Harkness has to nearly wrestle it away from Danse more than once to stop him from eating too quickly in fear he’ll be sick, but eventually Danse makes it through the sandwich. As much as he wants to wallow in his misery, he feels his mood lift despite himself.

They sit in semi-companionable silence for a while before Harkness begins speaking. “I met you once before you moved here, you know,” he says. “The first time you left the Commonwealth. I’m not surprised you don’t remember me -- the memory wipe was a little  _ too _ good back then. It would -- I don’t know all the details, but even new memories were damaged.”

It takes Danse a second to realize the implications. “You… you know what I am? And you’re with the Railroad?” he asks. 

Harkness turns, regarding him. Danse flinches away from his gaze. It’s been weeks since anybody looked at him and didn’t immediately try to start a fight. 

“I was, yes. I helped set up your backstory. Considering how things turned out, I felt responsible for you.” He hesitates again. “Especially since -- well. I told you I’m Harkness, more or less -- my original designation was A3-21.” He grins humorlessly. “It’s good to see you again, M7-97.” 

Danse starts violently. He’s not sure what to do -- there’s a synth infiltrator aboard the ship, one ferrying synths out of the Commonwealth, one who saved his life twice over and is protecting him from the fate he so justly deserves. Rivet City will be better off with Harkness dead. Danse reaches down to where his laser rifle usually hangs, then remembers that Harkness took it from him; he’s too weak for hand-to-hand combat right now, especially without his armor. “Don’t call me that,  _ synth _ ,” Danse spits, trying to put some steel behind his words. His voice, rusty from disuse, wavers slightly.

“Relax, pal,” Harkness says, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to do anything. This is my home, I have friends here, and I’ve been protecting this boat longer than you’ve been free of the Institute. Besides, even if I were a danger, there’s nothing you could do about it.”

He’s not wrong. The effort required to stay upright is draining him faster than he thought it would. Even the fading adrenaline rush of this particular revelation is making him tired and jittery.

Harkness sighs, turning back to look at the wasteland again. “Everyone here -- they know me as Harkness. That’s who I am -- that’s who I  _ choose _ to be, you get me?” 

“No,” Danse responds flatly. 

Harkness shoots him an unreadable look. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” Despite Danse’s attempts to shrug him off, Harkness wraps an arm around Danse’s waist again. Danse would never admit it, but without Harkness there, he wouldn’t have made it back alone.

 

\-----------------

 

They settle into a new routine -- every morning, Harkness brings food and water, then returns in the evening to drag him around the ship. At first they can only make it outside and back before Danse has to return to his room, trembling with exhaustion and anger. As he gets his strength back, they go for longer and longer walks through populated areas of the ship, Danse averting his gaze from the real people around them. Harkness doesn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that he’s a synth, so Danse listens to him chat with seemingly endless masses of people who don’t know he’s a replicated man, and wishes he were dead.

More than once Danse considers stopping someone and explaining that they’re both synthetic. At first only his own physical weakness stops him; slowly, though, he begins to realize that Harkness actually believes his own words. Harkness  _ cares _ about this place, and the people who live in it.

Danse doesn’t want to speak, so Harkness does most of the talking. He hears about relationship drama, patrols in the wasteland, visitors to Rivet City, radroach infestations -- all the little mundane things that have happened in Harkness’s day. On one particularly notable afternoon, Harkness hashes out the details of an upcoming date with the bouncer of the local bar while Danse glowers at him and wishes a pack of super mutants would swoop down and murder them both. 

Still, when he’s left alone in his room at night, Danse replays their one-sided conversations and aches with jealousy and sadness. Harkness has a life here. Harkness is a  _ person _ , and people treat him accordingly. Harkness has made a place for himself. It seems impossible, but Harkness is living, breathing proof.

A month goes by, then another. Someone lets slip that Harkness has been paying for Danse’s room and board out of his own pocket; Danse feels so badly about it that he convinces another security guard to let him into the security office to tidy up. He starts taking walks around Rivet City by himself and is surprised by how many people greet him as Harkness’s friend. Somehow he finds himself getting press-ganged into helping out around the science lab, monitoring the hydroponics setup. He’s probably well enough to make it to the Citadel by now, but he still lingers for reasons he’s afraid to articulate.

About three months in, Harkness meets him for their regular walk around the boat. He’s uncharacteristically quiet as he leads them to the prow of the ship. It’s got the best view of the wasteland, and Danse can see the desert stretching out for miles around them.

“You can stay here, if you want,” Harkness says at last. “We’ve got room for you with security.” He shrugs. “I… well, I feel like I’m responsible for you, and your background being what it is, you’re probably better trained than anybody else around. If you don’t -- we’ve got supplies and weapons, enough to get you started wherever you want to go, at least.”

There is another long pause. Danse isn’t sure what to say. “Do you have any plans?” Harkness asks.

Harkness has been kind to him. Harkness has friends and coworkers who care about him and want him to be well. He’s well liked enough that the silent stranger he dragged out of the wasteland has been shown hospitality. Danse has been useful here. He doesn’t  _ want _ to die.

“I was -- ” Danse’s voice is hoarse from disuse. He clears his throat and tries again. “I was going to go to the Citadel, but…” He trails off helplessly, shrugging. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I don’t know.” 

Harkness watches him for a moment longer. “Okay,” he says. “You don’t have to decide now.” He looks back over the wasteland. The sun is setting, dyeing the radiation haze in the west spectacular colors. 

After another moment of silence, Harkness clears his throat. “I know your situation -- it’s a lot,” he says, looking visibly uncomfortable. “And I won’t lie to you, it’s hard. But -- it gets easier. Friends help. Something to do helps. It won’t be like this forever, you know.” He pauses, then forges on ahead. “Every person chooses who they want to be, you and I just have more options than most. You get me?”

Danse thinks he might. 

Harkness claps him on the shoulder. “I’m going to turn in,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow, kid.” Danse watches him leave, then turns back, watching the sunset. 

He takes a deep breath. He’ll stay, for now, and help out. Tomorrow he’ll get up early to check on the potato hydroponics, then he’ll have lunch at the Muddy Rudder. He’ll take a walk with Harkness, and greet the shopkeepers he sees every day. And maybe for now that’s enough. 

He waits a moment longer, until the last sliver of sun has dipped below the horizon, then goes back to his room.


End file.
